


The “Hooker in a Bar” Fic

by shingo_the_pest



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Bottom Kirk, Exhibitionism, Grumpiness, M/M, Prostitution, Swearing, Unsafe Sex, and I am too lazy to fix that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-09-15
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingo_the_pest/pseuds/shingo_the_pest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy doesn't usually go to dives like this, where the music is loud and there are beautiful men and women looking for a bite of your wallet. And this Kirk fellow is far too insistent to be good for Leonard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written with [ke_wilson](http://k-e-wilson.livejournal.com/) who is amazing and wonderful and the best.
> 
> This story was originally posted on [LJ](http://shingo-the-pest.livejournal.com/120678.html).
> 
> Written for[](http://24-centuries.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://24-centuries.livejournal.com/) **24_centuries** ’s hooker prompt, _“Jim working in a bar and he's trying to lure Bones into being a customer and he's all seductive-like and what not and there's lots of slight touches and breathy-voices”_. Except I failed at the Bones/Jim part.  >_> But that’s why this is part one…

The aggravated man sat down in the stool beside Jim, and ordered a shot of whiskey. As the bartender poured, Jim ran his eyes over the stranger's stubble and worn leather jacket. "I haven't seen you around here before," he inquired casually, half interested.

The scowling man glanced at Jim, a swift up-down, then looked to the mirror behind the bar, and watched the crowd as if they were preferable company to the (extremely handsome) young man he had chosen to sit next to. “No, you haven't. I suppose you know everyone here."

"Oh, I just recognize faces."

"Ah." And the man said nothing past that. He shot back his drink, breathed down the burn, and focused stubbornly on the mirror.

Just to further agitate the man, Jim continued to openly watch him, despite the shrug off. The stranger’s cheeks twitched and his lips pursed, well aware of the attention. The man stiffly breathed in and out, shoulders tense, obviously uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but stubbornly not reacting. Jim smiled, and drank his beer lazily. He could wait out any reluctant john.

But a distracting hand slid up Jim's arm, stroking over his bicep, then up to his deltoid. Jim swallowed his irritation; he really just wanted to spend his night leisurely, maybe playing cat and mouse with this new man. But business first. He turned around to see Matthews, a regular.

"Looks like someone's got the itch, eh Cupcake?" Jim swiveled around until he was completely facing Matthews. His knees bumped the man's sturdy legs, and Matthews, unsmiling, took another step forward, pressing a thigh intimately between Jim's legs.

"I wanna piece of you tonight," the big man challenged. Jim smiled and stood up, pressing their bodies tightly flush. Matthew's erection pressed against him belly.

“But why would I want a piece of you?" He held Matthew's eyes, challenging but with a leisurely grin. He slid his hands down the big man's sides, through t-shirt. Matthew's own hands trailed over Jim' ribs, down to his hips.

"Two hundred dollars says you do." Matthew's hands gripped Kirk's flesh, pressing Jim impossibly closer, gripping his ass, twisting and squeezing.

Jim's smile widened. "I wouldn't kiss you for two hundred dollars. Four hundred for what you want."

Cupcake's lips curled, ready to either snarl or cry. He bounced on his heels impatiently, rocking into Jim. "No way! I ain't paying that, you always do this, always try and jack up the price on me. I paid $350 last time-"

Someone in the crowd sniggered.

"-and I ain't going above that! No fucking way!"

Jim never stopped grinning, slowly stroking Matthew's sides with his palms, then with curled his fingers and a hint of fingernail. He leaned up until his lips teasingly brushed Matthew's. The man's whole body tensed in anticipation. The moment held and bated until finally Kirk completely met their lips, sinking tongue and breath into it. Matthews groaned, and dug his fingers into Jim's ass, thrusting forward.

"-ff-fuck Kirk, I don't have four hundred dollars today!" Cupcake gasped.

"Sure you do, you got paid," Kirk challenged, running his mouth lewdly over Matthew's cheek, then going for his ear.

The poor man seemed to fight with himself, torn over the money. "I got rent coming up..."

"Three hundred straight, and don't expect this deal again," Kirk bartered

Matthews looked torn, "Can't we just, you know, half the deal?"

"Full deal or no deal."

"Damn it. Damn it Kirk! Fuck you!" Cupcake looked angry, angry enough that most tricks would rather walk away. But James T. Kirk wrapped one leg around Matthew's hip, grinding their groins, and pulled the man into a furious, violent kiss. Then Kirk pushed Matthews away, and walked out. The big man fought internally a moment, torn between following or just staying and spending his money on booze. The throbbing, demanding erection made up his mind, and he followed after Kirk, cowed like a kicked dog.

McCoy had watched the drama, and he had his own erection now, after that little exhibitionist show. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Aw hell. Is it always bullshit crazy in here?" he asked the bartender.

"I don't know if a bull's refuse can appropriately determine a psychological neurosis, but yes, Matthews comes in every second Friday, and Jim's bartering methods can be cruel."

McCoy raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You always speak like that?"

The bartender tipped his head to the side in confusion. "In what manner do you mean?"

"Never mind. You're a terrible therapist."

The bartender raised an eyebrow back, "I am not a counselor, nor a psychologist. So no, I probably would not make a very good therapist. But I do not understand why you would-"

"Just shuddup."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone must understand that [](http://k-e-wilson.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://k-e-wilson.livejournal.com/)**k_e_wilson** is the most awesome beta and co-author IN THE WORLD. Got it? Good, just wanted to get that message out. =)

McCoy remains at the bar longer than he really should, or had planned on. He quietly harasses the bartender- who seems un-fazed if not for the quirking of his left eyebrow. But McCoy falls silent after a while, and watches the crowd through the bar's mirror, eyes roaming over drunken dancers and partiers.

He gets up twice, circling around the dance floor with three fingers of bourbon in a glass as he skirts first the edge of the dance floor and then the perimeter of the bar, passing by the door and getting a hefty loft of hot dry air from outside that sends him back to the bar like a kicked dog. If he's being honest with himself he knows why he keeps circling back to the same seat at the bar, and it has nothing to do with the refills he keeps asking for. He's waiting to see if that young trick in the tight jeans- Kirk, his mind supplies, but he tries to force it away, because, goddamnit he is not that interested- will be back.

Kirk, though, isn't the only one trying to turn a few tricks in this bar, and McCoy scorns himself for picking this god-forsaken hot spot instead of his usual hole-in-the-ground shit shack with cheap beer. There's a hand full of girls and boys who are obviously on advertisement, just a few of them and they're obviously getting attention among the hundreds of partiers here. He’s used to the kinds of places where nobody wanted to turn tricks because nobody was looking past their own fucking problems. This place had a band playing raunchy music in the far corner- it was loud, but not oppressively so; the people here were more interested in finding the next fling than in drowning the last one away.

Kirk does show up again, several hours after he left. He comes strutting through the crowd like a proud peacock, head high as he flirts across the room toward the bar. His white wife beater lay perfectly against the trim line of his body, leaving just enough to the imagination, his jeans tight, the outfit showing off the delicious curve of his back and the well-toned hardness of his thighs. (McCoy focused on the tights, because he did not want to acknowledge the welcoming top button of the other man's jeans that lay undone.) The man was fit, body honed from bicep to thigh and McCoy was struggling to remain uninterested, failing completely through the lens of too many glasses of bourbon, and when the younger man came to a flamboyant halt against the bar, elbows propped on the dark surface, hips jutting forward and legs partly spread- a position that was all about showing off every. fucking. muscle- McCoy found his eyes darting to meet Kirk's own.

"Hey," Kirk’s voice was low, but not tinged with the same comeonfuckme that had been there with the other guy, "You're still here; why am I not totally surprised?"

McCoy manages to not roll his eyes, but fails to stop the quirk of one sharp eyebrow, and when he speaks he knows his drawl is slapped on the ass of the words like molasses. "Because you're an obnoxious fool with an ego complex."

Kirk grins cheekily, leaning closer toward McCoy so he can run one hand up the man's arm. "Oh, I'm not so bad- in fact, I'm quite popular. If you want, I can show you why." It's a blatant offer, and McCoy knows he should be rightfully off-put by the thought of how many people have probably heard that tonight alone, but his cock doesn't know any better and gives an interested jerk.

In an effort to try and admonish both himself and Kirk at the same instant, “No!” flies off his lips like a gravel stone as it thunked through the air.

Kirk's smile just grows and it's a bit dazzling to think that the rose-pink lips have probably been plowed by a good number of men- McCoy's balls tighten expectantly, and he forcefully swallows the almost groan that's clawing it's way up his throat as Kirk leans closer to him, carrying the waft of musk and sex.

"You won't dance with me?" Those confident, smiling blue eyes know Kirk has an effect on McCoy.

"No." It comes out in almost the same fashion as the first **no** , but this one's got a bit of a wavering undertone that McCoy tries to ignore, because goddamn it his resolve is not breaking for some blue-eyed trick in a spicy bar.

"I'll do all the work," and suddenly Leonard's got himself a lap full of tight muscles and sun-kissed skin; the kid's got his arms braced on the bar, legs on each side of the older man's hips and he's slowly grinding their groins together. "All you do is enjoy it, promise." The 'promise' in that statement comes out as a purr against Leonard's ear and sends a flash of heat straight into his groin.

"This a freebie, kid?" McCoy grounds out, eyes lowering slightly in what is definitely not an attempt to look at their groins as they move together.

"I don't believe in freebies." Kirk whispers, grinds his hips once in a slow circle that has McCoy throbbing in response. When the words register, he almost pushes the goddamn tease off his lap, the raging hard-on be damned. And in mortification, McCoy glances around the bar, to all the people around them. This was a goddamn bar, not some strip club! But the kid doesn't seem to care, and fuck it, Leonard's close to not caring either. Kirk's hand makes his body jerk as it trails it's way down his side and into his pocket, slipping inside, a warm pressure against Leonard's thigh, before pulling out his old leather billfold. McCoy tries to find some semblance of sanity, to stop the kid, as Kirk lazily flips it open, fingering through the few notes inside. "Not much in here, is there? Fifty bucks? Now, where's your sense of adventure?" It's a light tease as Kirk's hips slide forward with delicious speed that belies his comments.

"Left it at home." Leonard tries to grouse, only it comes out a bit strangled at the beginning. Kirk glides against him, thighs holding close to his own, in a particularly wonderful way that was like a slide and a twist rolled into one. McCoy loses his breath for a few moments.

"Sure your bones know that?" Kirk whispers into his ear, hips moving in a jerky almost-pattern that has McCoy struggling not to just grip the young man's hips and thrust. "Looks like no archeology for them tonight, doesn't it? But surely they'll want to come try again tomorrow..."

And Jim is enjoying this. Fifty bucks isn't much in Jim's book, but god damn if he's not struggling against the urge to just say 'gimme what you got' and consequences be damned. Jim likes this guy; likes his eyes, his nose, those wide hands hesitantly resting on his hips, and god does he like the man's voice with it's southern drawl that twangs just right. But James T. Kirk has better sense than that, and he's not given out freebies since he was new to turning tricks; he's learned that it pays off better in the long run if customers know these goods are high quality, and they cost a pretty penny.

But he can't really stop his hips from rolling on the welcome heat of the other man's erection, loves the feel of his thighs pressed wide by the stranger’s, so he pockets the inadequate amount and leans forward to whisper, "I'll give you a discount, just once. Dance like this usually costs over a hundred, but I think you need this tonight." He can feel the shivers shoot down the other man's spine as Jim’s hands come to rest on the broad expanse of shoulders, feels the stranger’s fingers flex but not slide any lower. That sends a pleasurable spike into Jim's mind; handsome and polite.

Jim smiles as he hears the groan under him, snaking his crotch across the man's erection as he revels in the feel of the other man's cock through denim and slacks. He doesn't hesitate to use his thighs to raise himself, tilting his pelvis so the other man is nestles just between his balls, the head of his cock grinding through fabric into the space just behind Jim's scrotum. Suddenly, Jim can't hold his own groan in any more and leans forward, dragging his hips into the other man's as his voice trips into his ear, "Harder, Bones... Come on, rut me..." and he feels something snap in the man beneath him.

Leonard's mind goes wild and blank at Kirk's whispered demand. He has little experience with 'dances' like this; the girl from his bachelor party long ago had left him hard and so aching with need that he'd had to beat off in the bathroom like a fifteen-year-old. But Kirk wasn't stopping, and his hips are doing wonderful things to Leonard's cock. All he can see are the blue, blue eyes fixated on his own intimately, in a way no playgirl's looked at Leonard before. Kirk's arms are wrapped around his neck, hand gripping gently in McCoy's hair as they pant together. Everything about the kid, his quivering lips, his open eyes, his tight arms, his feverish skin, is telling Len that they aren't just doing stripper play- this is sex. They're having sex through their clothes on a bar stool in a room packed with people. It's intense, and intimate, and open, and so much like it was back when he and Jocelyn had been at their best. And fuck that backstabbing bitch for invading his mind right now, because he's going to plow into this young trick harder than Jocelyn could ever take it.

Kirk's nose is touching his own, their breath hot and moist across each other's cheeks as Leonard leans forward to mouth at the kid's jaw, following the trail to a velvety neck as they rut against one another. Almost too soon, their breath is hitching, Kirk's voice startled and urgent and his body's tensing in Leonard's lap-

They both cum. "Fuck..," Kirk melts, and Leonard would agree with the sentiment if he could speak, but right now he's panting just to stay upright as Kirk's head drops to his shoulder, lips mouthing at the older man's neckline. Kirk curls around him, fingers lightly tracing from the crown of McCoy's head, through his hair, and down the back of his neck. Leonard’s arms tighten around Kirk’s back as he realizes that he's having a post-coitus cuddle on a goddamn bar stool.

His thighs ache, as does his back, but this moment isn't going to be ruined by minor pains, or the fact that he's probably walking out of here with a strange tilt to his gait from the odd feel of coming in his pants. He forces those thoughts away and focuses on Kirk, wonderfully curled on his lap. They stay forever that way.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they finally part, it's with slow kisses. Kirk 'Call-me-Jim' has an expression that, on anyone else, McCoy might call apprehensive, and heaven knows that's how Leonard feels too.

"You usually here?" Leonard asks; they've moved their little 'show' away from the bar (and Leonard still can't believe he blew in his goddamn pants like a pre-teen in front of that bartender; can't believe the bartender just stood by and let them do it). They're pressed against the far wall, now, the shadows hiding them from the crowd, who- in all honesty- probably don't give a fuck where they went; but it's much more private here where their words only carry between the two of them. Jim's close enough for Leonard to inhale the trick’s breaths, and it makes his nose tingle pleasantly. Drunk off the sight and smell of sweaty skin and playful blue eyes, Leonard runs a thumb over Jim's clavicle, almost absently.

"I'm here most nights." The young man responds to Leonard's almost-forgotten question. "You planning to come back tomorrow?" Jim looks hopeful, lips turning up and chin tilted to stare up at the man who's got a few inches on him.

Leonard almost says yes, wants to say it. But he's out fifty bucks now, and he's pretty sure he can't afford Kirk. He askes the dreaded question. "How much?"

Jim doesn’t respond immediately, and stares at him silently. For a minute, Leonard’s terrified he's said something out-of-bounds and broken some unspoken fourth-wall kind of thing, because Jim's leaning back, not leaving him arms, but no longer pressed close either. Only his hands on Leonard's shoulders remain as he sinks against the wall. The kid's considering, and Leonard knows he needs to just shut up and let him do it, his own irrational not-fears be damned. "Four hundred."

It's like a full-on kick in the gut, and McCoy rasps it back at him, "Really? It's really four hundred?"

But Jim just nods, eyes still on Leonard's, "For a full ride. Half that for a blow...but I'll make a deal. Three fifty for the whole night, anything goes, as much as you like." There's a flit of a smile as Jim darts forward to press a kiss against Leonard's ear. "But that's tomorrow night only. So you be here tomorrow, or there's no deal."

Leonard's aghast, jaw slack for an instant before growling, “Deal? Christ, kid, that's more than half a week's pay!" Now he gets how Matthews felt- wanting something so bad, and wondering how the fuck you're going to pay for both it and rent. He thinks for an instant of trying a sympathy card, explaining his alimony check and the bills for a career that he almost had- but he quickly shuts the thought down, and pride casts the idea aside.

And while McCoy is thinking, he's got no idea how close Jim is to breaking and lowering the price again; the word is teetering on the tip of his tongue, ready to fly out like a caged bird even though everything Jim knows- everything he's learned all these years- is screaming against it. The scruffy man is Highly Likely to Return- no discounts needed for incentive. The only thing driving at the price right now is Jim's own asininely irrational fear that McCoy might disappear. But this man is coming back- Jim can see that in the man’s blue-green eyes. But Jim really really wants to... "Bring two fifty. We'll haggle specifics later."

Leonard sighs in relief, even though it's still really too much. But Jim's kissing him again before he can say any more and they melt into one another, chests flush. The kisses grow longer, a moment becoming minutes, and Jim thinks he might just say fuck it- he wants to stay here, tonight, pressed into the back wall with this disheveled man. The man's stubble feels welcome against Jim's cheek, and he knows he should really walk away now- best to leave them wanting more- but he almost can't, because it feels nice to have this man’s hands on him. It takes everything he's got to pull away, and go back to work. He’s still got several hundred more to earn to reach this night's quota.


	3. Chapter 3

The next night Leonard shows up at the bar early, just shy of 7:00, and cursing himself for being an eager fool while he wades his way through the mass of bodies. He quietly slips into the same seat he'd taken the night before and scowls at the bartender who nods in welcome.

The bartender, who probably hasn’t changed his hair from the bowl cut his mama gave him when he was _five_ , solemnly asks McCoy for his drink order as though it's actually important. He goes all of half a minute ignoring his ingrained manners before his Gram's voice is snapping in his head that it's _rude_ to ignore a question, and he gives in, muttering an order for some comparatively cheap whiskey.

He nurses his booze for two hours, chatting with the bartender- who's name turns out to be Spock (which is really one of the most fucked up excuses for a name he's ever heard, and that's coming from a man who's named _Leonard-fucking-Horatio_ ) before he starts to loose his thinly held patience. He's been checking his ratty goddamn watch every five minutes since 8:15 hit, and he wants to get out of here, he’s tired of the thumping music, and the laughter, and the strobbing lights, and all the goddamn people, packing in like sardines. It’s a damn fire hazard. Spock, for his part, seems to take no notice of Leonard's steadily increasing ire, only offering to refill his whiskey the two times it reaches bottom.

Jim finally shows up right on the cusp of 9:00, and he's not looking fresh. McCoy's eye twitches as he takes in the abused lips and the hard nipples poking through the tight black shirt. Kirk seems to take no notice of the other man's ire as he struts up to the bar, wraps an arm around Leonard, and grins over the bar top at Spock with a jubilant, "Hey, guys! What's good tonight, Mr. Spock?"

His voice is too fucking jolly for McCoy's ears, makes his eye twitch even as Spock quirks a brow and suggests, "Guinness?"

"Sounds excellent! Give it here, please." McCoy glowers and nurses his drink, as the man-child finally turns his full attention to McCoy. "And how's my sugar daddy doing today?" The emphasis on the 'question' is helped out by the gentle squeeze of Kirk's arm around his shoulders

Leonard _feels_ his eyes narrow, feels the deep downturn of his mouth just before he's snarling, "Don't _call_ me that." He tries to look less affronted than he feels, and Jim doesn’t seem to care or notice, just leering with that overconfident grin that seems to _live_ on the young man's lips.

"Aw, is someone a bit grumpy today? Do the old Bones feel neglected?" This time, when Jim squeezes, it's not his shoulders. The young man suddenly reaches down, grabbing Leonard’s cock through his pants and cupping his hot palm around the family jewels.

"Y-you--!" McCoy yelps, his voice strangled and high before trying again, "You're a right asshole, Kirk!"

Jim, for a moment, looked taken aback, but seemed to think there was no need for guilt. "Oh, c'mon Bones, as if that isn't where you want my--" Leonard shoved back from the bar with an angry snarl, grabbing his whiskey and moving away. Hands on both his shoulders brought him up short, forced him to turn until he was looking into _bluebluesobeautiful_ eyes. Jim finally looked contrite -and cautious- as his brows drew together over those pebbles of sea. "Wait. I know, I'm a jackass..." They both stared at one another for a moment before Kirk drew a breath again, "But..."

It seemed, for a moment, that the scruffy man would shrug Jim's hand off, turn tail and leave without another word. But McCoy's stiff shoulders loosened on a sigh. Kirk tried desperately not to grin in cocky victory, and kept his expression a schooled study of perfect compassion as he followed the other man back to their spot at the bar. They both ignored the somewhat dubious expression on Spock's face.

But young Jim is, however, still Jim and he can’t bite back too long when he's this ramped up for something. He makes it thirty seconds before he's leaning over toward McCoy, just enough for the disgruntled man to settle down, one hand trailing teasingly over a strong thigh as Jim’s lips meet an earlobe for an instant before whispering, "Just think of all the fun we're gonna have tonight, Bones."

It's like a snapping rope, the way McCoy has hit Jim's hand away and is sweeping back toward the door again in a blink, and Jim' stumbles after him a bit, snapping "Hey, wait a minute. Come back here, you jerk!" hitting his leg on the abandoned barstool as he grabs McCoy's shoulder _again_ and wheels the man around to face him. "I'm _sorry_ , okay?" McCoy looks like he's seriously weighing the option of slugging Kirk, and for a second the younger man is frozen on that thought, but he shakes it off because he'll be god _damned_ if he stayed up for half of his usual sleeping hours, just thinking about this scruffy man for absolutely nothing. "Please-" and that word is dragged out of him as though it's a sour punch to the kidney, "-I really want you to stay... _please_?" The second time it tumbles out, it's not as forced, almost too quiet for the other man to hear, and Jim knows that.

But Leonard's wavering- something in the tone, probably- and Kirk's visibly kicking himself at how insecure and needy that last please sounded right up until the older man is scowling and dragging himself back to the bar stool yet again. Jim follows, silently taking his beer from Spock, who's looking about as smug as Kirk's ever seen him- a turn of events that the young man does not want to contemplate.

It's a tense few minutes as McCoy works through two fingers of whiskey and Jim polishes his beer before his companion finally seems to relax, elbows resting on the bar with long fingers absently toying with Spock's fine tumbler glass. Jim takes the time to bask in the comfortable quiet that's finally descended on them before he turns his eyes fully onto Bones' face again.

The other man's eyes flicker up for a moment before he huffs and turns his head so Jim can see all of his strong, stubbled jaw and accept the full impact of the decadently quirked eyebrow. He finally asks the question that's only half been bugging him for most of his day today, "So what's your real name, Bones?"

He knows half the answer- he remembers the haughty, dismissive way Spock had said "McCoy" at three thirty in the morning, just before literally throwing Jim from his establishment and closing the doors (probably to go sneak off to see that waitress with the fantastic legs from Rosie's uptown). It's a bit disappointing when McCoy’s finely set mouth opens up and only spits out the same surname Jim already knows.

He doesn't even hesitate when he pesters further, "McCoy what?" and he feels no shame in flashing a smile as incentive.

McCoy scowls for a moment, eyeing Jim as though he's not sure if he's being faced with an exuberant puppy or a hungry wolf before he throws out his full name, the ever-present drawl thickening with habit for just an instant, "Leonard McCoy."

Kirk scoffs slightly, raising an eyebrow of his own as though mildly indignant. " _Leonard?_ " It sounds like a half-whine half-guffaw, "I think I'll just stick with 'Bones'."

They probably looked like two strangers, chatting it up in a bar while trying to get drunk. Hunched over their separate drinks, elbows barely brushing, they would seem more intent on heading for inebriation than a good fuck at home. Or a motel. Leonard took a moment to think that over- where were they heading? A motel was more money to spend, but he was pretty damn sure Kirk wouldn't be bringing a trick back to his own place- even if it was an 'all night' event, and Leonard half wanted to protest the idea of bringing the kid back to his shit hole of an apartment on principle alone. But it just didn't make sense to pay for a room after protesting the price of a trick, itself, and Lord above knew that Leonard would be feeling sore in the wallet for a few weeks after tonight.

"Yeah, well you’re going to do what you damn well like regardless of what I say. My mother deemed it a worthy name, but you obviously think you’re a higher authority." Leonard snaps, tired of trying to make any kind of leeway with the kid.

"And you don't dance,” Jim further complained, completely ignoring McCoy’s complaint. “Don't seem like one for much friendly conversation, either, do you? What passes for a good time in your book, then?" Kirk carries on as if it's normal for a hooker to chat up like this before making off with half their trick's cash.

"I wasn't aware," Leonard growls slightly, sipping at the remains of his whiskey, "that I was going to be paying for a chat."

Kirk bites back his urge to huff, "It comes with the package." he says, instead, and fails to ignore the slight twitch of Bones' eyebrow. Damn, was all of tonight going to be this difficult? Last night there had been _amazing_ chemistry, yet today it was like floating in lukewarm water. Kirk wasn't sure if it had been the light teasing, the slight groping, or just being late, but there was no way Leonard McCoy was usually this crotchety. Right? And he hadn't even been _that_ late, he reasoned; Bones had only been waiting, what, twenty minutes?

Maybe Jim shouldn't have taken the two hundred from Gary Mitchell for the blow before coming here. But nobody could tell, right? He fought off a scowl as he reasoned that, too. He'd needed to clear up the rest of tonight, make sure he was available so he could go home with Bones- and even then, he was only gonna make a fraction of what he _could_ pull in if he _didn't_ go with the man.  


But Bones was doing fuck all to seem even open to the prospect of _speaking_ , let alone making a deal like this. The man seemed to resent being here. Fine then; give a guy a deal, and he makes like you're holding his kidneys hostage. No reason for Jim to waste any more of his time here when he could be making four times the money with a thousand other opportunities.

  
He pushed away from the bar, draining the last remaining vestiges of his beer before turning a level gaze on McCoy again. "Look, why don't we just call it a night. You obviously don't want to be here, and I've got better things to be doing than trying to convince you." He jolts the bottle down onto the bar top, "It's been nice, Bones; had a great time last night, and I wish you well."

The grouchy prick only raised the goddamn eyebrow again. "You're leaving?"

Jim can feel the 'well, _duh_ ' look take over his face. "You're not interested anymore, and I don't stay late to the party." He shrugs and turns to leave, almost makes it clear of the blond chick who's grinding obscenely, obviously too drunk to be coordinated about it (was that Rand? What the hell is she doing smashed, she should know better; fuck, he didn’t want to deal with shit tonight), before McCoy's voice is snapping into his ears.

"Get your ass back here! Who said a damn thing about not being interested?"

Jim cocked an eyebrow, mirroring McCoy's own expression. "Well, you haven't been saying a whole fuck of a lot since I got here-  usually a great hint it's time for me to leave."

"No." It's firm, and it makes Jim's other eyebrow join it's brother. "I never said a damn thing about you leaving; I just want to enjoy my goddamn whiskey while I've got the chance." McCoy pauses, glances away, pretending to watch the dancers, "I didn't say anything about... not being interested. I'm _here_ , aren't I? Came back to this damned _woo-hoo_ of a bar; if I didn't think there was something waiting for me, I'd have stayed the hell away." The last was said, eyes fixated on the last finger of whiskey in his glass, purposefully ignoring Jim's eyes.

Jim manages to quirk a smile, nudging his arm against McCoy's shoulder, “You’re not much of a “whoo hoo” kind of guy are you?”

“Damn straight I’m not. Bunch’a nonsense.” Kirk struggles not to grin, at least not outright, at the grumpily ruffled air McCoy's taken on as he sits down again, leaning against the other man's arm this time.

"Why did you come last night, then?" Jim’s curious, and he watches with something like glee as McCoy tries and fails not to roll his eyes and shrug carelessly.

"It was close by- see it every time I get off work, and I didn't feel like waiting to get a drink."

Kirk thinks: there's a large meat processing plant nearby, a couple restaurants and a large hotel. Lots of little ratpack motels, and little shops run by one or two shopkeepers a piece. Did Bones work at the plant? Was he a cook? Hotel maintenance? None of the jobs seemed to match Leonard McCoy right; they would fit like a very badly butchered coat.

"Where do you work?" It's out before he realizes he's said it and it makes them both blink for a moment before McCoy answers, voice gruff and dismissive.

"Nearby."

That just frustrated Jim. McCoy was the most difficult, stubborn ass of a man Jim had ever bothered with. More trouble than almost any trick was worth! _Seriously, just dump the grumpy fuck if he’s gonna balk at every tiny issue._ Less than three hundred bucks for this headache was a waste of his night; he really should be packing up for more fruitful prospects, reaching for his goal of twelve hundred dollars a night.

But instead of listening to his common sense, Jim Kirk listened to the gut feeling that felt this was _right_ , and to the tiny little voice in the back of his head that told him he was utterly charmed by the grouchy man. "Bones, you ready to blow this joint, then?"

McCoy nodded, threw back the last dregs of his own drink, and nodded again, this time with more finality. Jim felt his face break out into an eager grin as they headed for the door, throwing a wave to Spock in farewell.

The night was abysmally humid, and Jim sighed as he turned to look at McCoy. "How are we gonna get there?"

McCoy pauses for a moment, thinking. "Well... Where are we going? Your place?"

"No, I don't take business home with me," Jim explained with casual finality. Dear god, he asked himself, what the hell would he do if _Cupcake_ ever figured out where he lived? (Another part of his mind automatically provided, _Move._ ) Taking tricks home was never a smart idea; just in case shit hit the fan with needy or violent idiots. "There's a half dozen motels near here." At McCoy's sore look, he continues, "Or you could take me home. Up to you."

Bones frowns for a moment, and Jim half-wonders what he's deciding when he speaks up again, turning west. "Alright, this way." There's no motels that way, and Jim feels eager anticipation build in his belly.

"You got a car?"

McCoy scoffs, as if the thought is absurd, "No; now shut up and walk."

They go two blocks, and McCoy leads him into the subway, pays for them both, as expected. In the subway, Jim huddles in close, pressing thigh-to-thigh, shoulder-to-shoulder with Bones and trails his hand lightly over the man’s leg, enjoying the barely-rough feeling of ancient denim under his fingertips. McCoy didn't stand for the hand getting any nearer to his groin, though, and Jim debated on feeling put-out or pleased at being able to do this at all.

They got off in the cheap neighborhood. Dilapidated houses were overrun with tall grass. Half-broken, duct-taped toys littered the street, standing out like bright corpses in the dark night. Bones lead him to an apartment complex; no elevator, just cold metal stairs that wrapped up and down the front of the facade.

They climb three floors, to the top; pass by an apartment on the second floor that's boarded up at the windows and adorned with a sign in bright, huge red letters; " **DANGEROUS. TOXIC ENVIRONMENT. DO NOT ENTER.** " Police tape criss-crossed the door, blocking entry.

McCoy stops at the door directly above the boarded off apartment, and Jim cringes slightly- probably a meth lab, knowing this town. "Um, hey, not to be insinuating anything, but are you sure your place is safe?" he asks as Bones shoves a rusty metal key into a decrepit looking lock, "Toxic fumes from below aren't gonna kill us?"

McCoy huffs as he shoulders the door open, the wood groaning angrily at the abuse. "No, it’s _not_ goddamn safe! I've spent hours arguing with the landlord- and I don't want to deal with this right now. Just get in, or leave if you think you're gonna die in the next few hours."

Kirk swallows further protest; he'd been in similar places, hell, he'd been in worse places, and the inside of Bones' place showed itself as decent when he stepped inside, Bones following him and snapping the door shut behind them.

It was cleaner than he'd expected- framed posters on the wall, no dirty dishes littering the tiny kitchenette, the two small windows clean, and even the floor seemed to have actually known a vacuum in the last few days. Bones toed off his shoes by the door, and Jim follows suit, his sneakers looking out of place and disordered next to Bones' neat setup. Like a man who'd had some practice with home life, Jim mused as Bones shrugged off his leather jacket, hung it on a battered coat hook.

"Nice place," Jim concludes. Bones, for his part, stares at Jim for a moment, as though trying to figure out if he's being fucked with. Jim squirms, looking away, "Where's the bedroom?"

Bones lifted his chin, the motion bringing Jim's eyes back to his face before following the tilt toward a plain door on the other side of the tiny living area. Jim crossed to it, twisting the door handle and opening it to find a bedroom, sparsely furnished; he fought not to be disappointed at the bed, though.

"A twin? Not the fun bed I was hoping for."

Arms wrap around him and Bones' warm voice spoke from right behind him. He could feel the man's words on his neck, "That bed ain't seen any 'fun' since I got it."

But Jim, being Jim, was not deterred- he prided himself on being able to work with anything. Forcing himself not to linger on how damned _nice_ it had felt to have Bones' breath on the back of his neck, he strode across the bedroom and flopped down onto the crisply made bed, bouncing twice before laying back to strike a pose. He smiled without any need to force it; tiny or not, this was certainly more comfortable than Gary Mitchell's coffee table. Or an alley. "Not bad," he simpered, wiggling his shoulders to get more comfortable, "I think we can put the 'fun' in it. C'mere." He reached out, fingers wiggling like a small child reaching for candy, grin still in place, until Bones sighed and approached.

His groping hands took hold of Bones by the worn belt loops on his jeans, and he pulled the still standing man into his arms, levering himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, legs spread around Bones' knees, cheek pressed warmly into the man's ribs. A deep breath affords him a wash of the man's scent; dirty with metal and grease and sweat layered over something clean underneath- the scent of a sensible man who bathed everyday; who washed his clothes and hair. Jim's hands trailed over Bones' sides, scrunching the soft cotton of his shirt slightly. A gentle press of open-mouthed nibbling on Bones' stomach had the gruff man's warm hands cradling Jim's head in reaction. It takes Jim a second to battle back the shunt of _goodgod **yes** _ in his gut at the feeling.

He doesn't dwell too long on McCoy's stomach, deft hands skittering to unfasten Bones' belt with practiced ease before peeling open the jeans. McCoy's breath hitches and Jim licks his lips, hands not stilling as he pushes down the briefs, finally- _finally-_ finding what he's been thinking of since last night.

Bones is half-hard already, and his cock feels like hot silk in Jim's hand as he gives two slow pumps, grinning up at McCoy, who's rooted to the spot, watching him with complete concentration, a hint of anticipation drawing the corners of his eyes. Jim leans forward, kissing the tip, just once while his hand twists lightly at the base, still pumping. Slowly, he moves his lips down one side, then the other; running his open mouth from tip to hilt before pulling back and flicking his tongue out to lick one hot stripe across the bell of the head. Bones groans, and Jim looks up at him, meeting his eyes with his mouth hovering, half open, a fraction of an inch away from the throbbing cock.

Bones' hands tighten in his hair, and the corners of Jim’s mouth curl into a smirk, blowing air gently across the tip for an instant just to watch Bones' hips tense. He wants a better angle, so he gently pushes McCoy back, forcing him a step away from the bed so that Jim can drop to his knees. Now he's perfectly level with Bones' hips. Bones' grip on his hair tightens in a short tug, like he's worried that he just might have trouble standing. Jim grins, blue eyes sparkling as he braces his hands on the other man's thighs before fully sinking his mouth down over that delicious shaft.

Leonard groans, feeling his cock sink into that heat. Jim bobs up and down. McCoy fights not to tug too hard on the young man’s head, letting Jim control the pace. And gradually, Jim goes down on him deeper, until McCoy wonders at the feeling of his cock sinking into the tight expanse of a throat. Jim looks up at him, meets his eyes, and _swallows around his cock_. McCoy feels his knees buck at the sensation, completely willing to die and go to heaven, just from that sensation.

Jim pulls back again for breath, and Leonard gets in two panted breaths before the kid's gone forward again, taken him all the way in, throat constricting and squeezing around the head of his cock. He can't catch his breath as Jim picks up the pace, fast rhythm matching the wonderful squirreling of a hot tongue as it flits around Leonard in the best of ways just before he's being taken deep-throat again, with insides that were all molten silk and tight squeezing.

The kid looks utterly debauched, that handsome young face sweating lightly with lips spread wide over Leonard's cock. His hands muss Jim's hair, making it wild and Jim keeps glancing up at him with watery eyes that are filled with liquid heat and knowing. Jim's nostrils flare with effort as he keeps up the punishing pace, and when Leonard unintentionally thrusts forward, bottoming out, the only answer is a groan from Jim that seems to vibrate in a line right from his cock to his brain. Tears trickle down slightly from the corners of Jim's vibrant blue eyes at the action, and Leonard tries to pull away, only to be thwarted when Jim's hands come around to pull the backs of his thighs, holding him in place so that he can suck with a vengeance that has McCoy's toes curling.

Bones doesn't hold out much longer, and two bobs later, he's coming, unable to control a few stuttering thrusts that bottom out- thrusts that Jim takes with quiet moans as his tongue laves at Bones' base. He sucks the life out of McCoy's cock, makes sure he has every drop from the tender organ before releasing it to pant through swollen lips.

"Not bad." Jim leans back to support himself with both elbows on the bed, knees folded and splayed apart on the floor, his dark shirt drifting up just enough to show his defined pecs, nipples aroused. Leonard supports himself with one hand on the worn out nightstand, feeling his knees still shaking slightly from aftershock, before he concedes defeat and moves to sit on the bed with forced dregs of energy, staring openly at the kid.

"Not _bad_?" he asks, flabbergasted, "That was _amazing_ , kid." He leans back against the headboard, watches as Jim crawls onto the bed to lie against him, chest pressed to his naked arm. "Holy cow."

Jim smirks, quirking an eyebrow up at Bones from where his chin's resting on the man's chest. "Got your approval?"

Leonard can't even pretend to be sour about the kid's confident smirk; it's well deserved. "Yes." He pauses for a moment, eyes fixing on Jim's moist and abused lips. "Sorry about the... you know..."

Jim laughed, eyebrows rising slightly. "About moving?" he huffs out a guffaw, "You were still as a bird." At Bones' quirked eyebrow and disbelieving eyes, he continues, "Seriously- normally, guys are grabbing me and thrusting before I can get my mouth around them."

McCoy's eyes dart away, a frown coming to his face. "Still..." he hedges.

Jim's scoff draws Bones' eyes back to him, and he smiles reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. In fact, I encourage you to move more. Get rough- make it fun." It sounds like a dare, and there's challenge in Jim's eyes. McCoy fights not to grin back at the dopey look on the kid's face.

"Alright. But not yet." he answers, needing some recovery time. Jim smiles and his head burrows into Bones' stomach. They had plenty of time.


	4. Chapter 4

They doze.

Kirk is the first to feel a need to move; opening his eyes from where he is tucked snug against McCoy's ribs to look up at the older man's chin. Reaching a gentle hand up to stroke the stubble, Jim smiles when hazel eyes open, and lazily turn down to look at him.

Their legs are tangled together; skin-to-skin and Jim slowly brings his own up, up, up to trace his toes along Bones' calf, letting his legs grip until they are a tight, possessive circle around the man's waist. He presses his face into Bones' chest, mouthing through the man’s shirt and finding a nipple; his tongue wets the cloth, lips sucking and teeth nipping in turns. Bones murmurs moans.

One wandering hand escapes the blankets to trail down and wander over Bones' ribs until finds the naked skin of a hot, sweaty abdomen. Jim pushes the shirt impatiently up, mouth descending to taste salty skin, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he peeks up at McCoy. His tongue trails down, down until he is laving across a nipple, fingers clinging.

The hand that's cradling Jim's head as they slept now fists in his hair, dragging Jim up and he follows the silent order without thought, leaning into the hungry kiss with a relish and happily opening up to the adventuring tongue that strokes his insistently. McCoy's hips thrust in slow, dragging waves against him and Jim hums his pleasure at the feeling of warmth cradled between his thighs. Slowly, with a burning anticipation building between them, Bones rolls them until Jim lies beneath him completely; one thick arm wrapped in a warm rope against the blonde’s back, cradling him even as its twin delves to push into Jim's all-too-tight pants.

Pawing gracelessly at one another, they manage to get Jim's jeans off, pushing and kicking until every inch of his legs are free. There's no underwear; just an eager cock straining for attention. Bones huffs out something that could be a laugh, even as he reaches out, jacking it twice in reward for its patience. Jim hums into McCoy’s neck in pleasure. The shirt is gone before they think about it, Jim's torso suddenly burning as cold air and hot skin come into contact with the sensitized flesh.

The man underneath Leonard is naked and happy, and for a moment the ravaging kisses turn tender and slow, almost indulgent. McCoy is grinding them together; still those slow, sharp waves over and over. It's driving Jim slowly insane and he's three seconds away from _begging_ for more when McCoy's hands shift and press into his thighs, folding Jim's body until his knees are resting beside his ears and he feels more exposed than he's been in _years_. Jim wants to squirm, move and demand, but he's breathless and McCoy's leaning forward over him, releasing his thighs but catching his legs in the crooks of his arms as he braces over the golden body beneath him. It's really all Jim can do to lean up on unsteady elbows to nuzzle at Bones' face, demanding a kiss.

Their mouths meet hungrily, neither wanting the moment to end. After they kiss, Jim falls back to the bed, breathless, and one hand skitters for his discarded jeans that hang half off the bed, rummaging blindly for a moment before pulling out the tiny bottle of lube and a condom, pressing it into McCoy's hand.

Leonard's gaze jumps to the little bottle, to Jim's hopeful eyes, to the bottle again. He says nothing, just takes it, pops it open and squeezes a dollop onto his hand. Then he leans forward and does his best to kiss the strength out of Kirk, as his hand darts down to wet Kirk’s opening. Gentle fingers push into the small pucker, working it open with ease.

Kirk holds his knees, moans into the ruthless kiss and forgets he's bent in half, mind centered on the feeling of the fingers gently teasing him open; pushing in and stretching before thrusting once-twice-three times. He relaxes with the ease of practice even as his shoulders tense with anticipation. McCoy thrusts two fingers against his prostate with unerring precision, over and over again, and Jim arches his neck, keening against the pillows before relaxing and gasping for an icy gulp of air. Then the fingers attack his prostate again, and he whines, but tries desperately to keep eye contact with this man above him, shivering as the fingers move just a fraction faster, press just a tiny bit harder.

McCoy watches Kirk fall apart slowly under his hand, eyes welded to the body underneath him even as he speeds up his movements. Jim watches McCoy with a silence he hadn't possessed back at the bar. There's a moment and then Jim's body is seizing slightly and his hands are flying up to fist in McCoy's pillow gasping because _jesusfuck_ that feels nice and he's about three seconds away from coming when Leonard pulls his hand away, leaving him writhing and wanting.

But he doesn't have to wait for long; Bones' hands are back on his thighs, condom on, and his erection is pushing in, a slow burn of pure pleasure. He thrusts in with slow, steady movements, pulling back just enough to go forward again. McCoy pauses, reveling in the moment where he's fully seated in Jim's open body, and those cornflower blue eyes clench shut, a long ragged gasp escaping the younger man. McCoy pulls back again, only to slide home again in one smooth movement, leaning down to catch Jim's moan in a kiss. He keeps the pace, forward-back-forward-back, presses his face close to Jim's as he watches the other man. This close, he can hear every pant Jim makes, can feel against his cheek the direct response to each thrust.

He can hear the soft, "uh-- oh.... uuuh" of pleasure and he swells with happiness, listening for infinite minutes more until the slow pace is just too much. The need to break the litany becomes urgent, so he reels back, hands braced in the pillow beside Jim's head as his hips jerk back once more slowly before suddenly jack-hammering back into the body below him. Jim jerks, "uh-AH!" The hiccup in the moans, and is followed by a low, ragged moan that can't hold out against the fast hard motions of McCoy's hips.

Jim's hands tangle in the sheets, desperately pulling as he feels his body heave toward release at a devastating pace. It's only a handful more thrusts before he's crying out, arching up as he comes all over both of their stomachs. It's not-quite-perfect timing, because just a few thrusts later, Leonard's motions become jerkier and with a low rumble of a roar he's following Jim over the edge and Jim's body is flooded with warmth.

McCoy lets his body slump over Kirk's, resting his sweaty forehead against the other man's neck, panting breath cascading over Jim's jaw for a few moments before he nuzzles; kisses Jim’s skin. Kirk moans underneath him, legs relaxing to fall back to the bed. Slowly, he brings one hand up to thread into McCoy's hair, drawing the man's eyes back up to his own. For a moment they both simply pant in the aftermath. Content smiles mirror their faces.

\-----------

Kirk wakes up first the next morning. He's tired but he's also curious, feels the mission of action waiting in the wings. So he pulls himself gently out of the bed, dragging some pants on and quietly escaping to the small living area.

The apartment is well kept, but the pictures that litter the tables and walls are intriguing; there's one of an elderly couple- probably parents- but there are about a dozen of a little girl. In the pictures, she has bright, pale blond baby hair, blue-green eyes, and a smile that screams out it's giggles. She’s shown as a tiny, swathed baby, a toddler running happy, a young girl on a child's soccer team- her bright green jersey stained with mud, her skin littered with wet soil and her hair half a mess, but her smile is full of happy adrenaline.

There's no woman in any of the images; no mother to be seen, so Jim starts digging, looking into drawers. He's cautiously quiet, pausing now and then to listen to silence. But it's 6AM on a Saturday, and nobody else would be awake this early. McCoy stays asleep.

Jim finds something beneath a stack of magazines that, on closer inspection turn out to be three-year-old medical journals (and isn't that just curious?). There's a photo album, worn at the edges, and Jim opens it to have a look. On the first pages, a young Leonard McCoy peers out at him-- there's no frown lines, no sign of stress. Drinking buddies surround him, and there's the most hilarious picture ever of Bones chugging a pitcher of beer as a drunken crowd screams praise in the background.

And throughout the pictures, one young woman takes front stage. She's slender and pale, has an elegant and cold beauty about her- she doesn't smile much, but the enchanting grace makes up for a bit of that.

Photos of nights out on the town morph into images of elegant evening wear that slowly merge from group functions until it's just pictures of what are obviously dates. The pale woman is constant, ever beside McCoy in the images with her cold elegance even while Jim traces the growth of devotion on McCoy's face in each successive picture.

One of the most interesting ones, however, doesn't have the ice-queen in it; Leonard is standing in full graduation regalia, with damn near a dozen of those silly honors decorations. The young man in the image looks blooming with pride and assured ease with the world. His smile is warm and content. _What the hell happened to you?_

Jaded, Jim skims on ahead, watching as years and years fly by with every page- a wedding, pregnant wife, happy parenthood, and occasionally Leonard in- Jim stops flipping, staring down at the page. McCoy in scrubs? Maybe the man was a nurse?

Jim thinks; tries to remember if there's a doctor's office or hospital near Spock's bar. There isn’t. Something, he thinks, is not adding up.

Everything after that is littered with more of the little girl, and Jim shuts the book without lingering on it, slipping it back beneath the journals before rising. He listens cautiously for a moment, catching the distant sounds of Saturday morning cartoons from one of the neighbors, but nothing else. With a grateful sigh, he slinks into the kitchenette, searching for food.

Three minutes later, he's turned up cereal- the healthy stuff, with all the fiber and none of the sugar. And fruit- a couple peaches and apples, yum he thinks sarcastically. The urge to turn on the stove and make eggs and bacon jumps to his mind, but no. He doesn't want Bones to wake up yet, and he doesn't need the other man thinking he's fawning over him. Though breakfast might win him some points in the _Yes-Kirk-is-awesome-must-see-him-again_ category. Again, he tells himself to lay off the cheesiness.

Turning away from the cupboard, he catches sight of the table; and the mail lying on top of it. _"Already open- sweet!"_ is his thought as he picks the pile up. There's a credit card offer- already ripped in half. It's sequel is a utility bill followed by a-- child support bill. Not surprising, but a damn money-eater. And-- Jim's eyebrow makes a bid for freedom up his forehead as the next paper meets his eyes. A student loan? And _geez-us_ , the thing is fucking huge! Shouldn't this kind of thing be done with? Or did people really spend twenty years paying them off? He didn’t see why young Bones had been so proud in those graduation robes.

But he reads on, and-- _JESUS CHRIST_. The cost... Jim shakes himself. Six _hundred_ dollars _a month!?_ Just for the student loan? He freezes for a minute, slowly adding up what he's seen before staring at the wall across the small apartment with horrified disappointment painted across his face. But... He flips the papers again and _aha!_ Just underneath a flier for a discount car wash, he finds the paycheck...

Damn. It wasn't a nurse's paycheck- what the hell- it's from the same factory that _Scotty_ works at. And it's nowhere near what Scotty makes. Staring at the pay stub in a mix of fascinated horror and confusion, it silently clicks- _no wonder he says he can't afford this._

Bones needs a better job- or, at the very least, a job that has an _actual_ paycheck, not this pathetic donation sum. Between child support, ridiculous student loans, and some unknown amount for this closet sized apartment... God _damn_ this was disappointing. And depressing.

"What the hell are you doing?" A grumpy voice complains from the hall. Jim's stomach decides to take up residence between his toes. He drops the mail back to the table, and reaching for the fridge and Leonard only sees him reaching for the orange juice. "Trying to eat all my money, too? God damn gold digging..." McCoy's voice trails off into a sleepy mumble. Jim almost laughs out loud, realizing Bones probably isn't even fully awake yet- probably in desperate need of coffee.

"Want some breakfast?" He offers to distract. McCoy eyes him suspiciously, absently raising a hand to scratch at his chest. Jim takes the silence as consent, reaching back into the fridge to tug out the eggs and bacon. Leonard shrugs, feigning indifference, but Jim catches the slight shift in his shoulders that marks happiness.

Breakfast is a mostly silent affair, but it's comfortable. When they finish, McCoy leans over to pull out a plain white envelope from a kitchen drawer. Jim feels a cold tightening in his gut as Bones passes it to him. "Two hundred and fifty; its' all there, check for yourself," his tone is grudging.

Jim counts the money, and comes up with the full $250. Sighing quietly, he realizes that last night he made less than five hundred, total. Not the goal he'd wanted to reach, but he was doing well enough right now that he could afford some down time to be generous with. Reaching into the envelope, he plucks out five twenties and hands them back. McCoy's got that wary look back on his face, all confused indignation.

"What the hell's this?"

Jim sighs, smiling as he explains, "I'll take $150 and call it even."

McCoy's face drops for a moment, blank, and then he's bristled, simply _oozing_ 'affronted'. _"WHAT?"_ he snaps, "You kept haggling with me the other night over how expensive you are, and suddenly you decide you don't need the money?! _What the hell?!"_

Jim sighs, a hand rubbing his eyes in irritation. "Maybe you complained so much, I decided to work with you a little more!"

McCoy growls and it's a low dangerous sound- a sound that _should not_ echo in Jim's pants like that- "I don't need your goddamn charity!" He roars.

For a minute, Jim seriously considers banging his head on the wall. "Fine." He finally snaps, scooping up the bills from the table where they'd fallen, "I'll just keep the damn money."

As Jim rises from his seat, McCoy's eyes follow him with the caution one normally reserves for poisonous snakes and clowns. Trying to ignore how prickly the other man is being, Jim begins gathering his things from the bedroom, giving himself a minute as he pulls on his shirt. His mind wanders to last night; how Bones had been just as prickly, then, but that the other man hadn't wanted him to leave. The soreness in his ass- a wonderful, radiating ache that he savors- makes the memory of being pinned on his back, McCoy moving above him, the man's warm arms wrapped around him, and the eye contact all come into sharp focus; PROOF of just how much McCoy hadn't minded him staying.

Jim doesn't like the kind, emotional tricks. They make the sex so easy, but for that he always feels like a complete douchebag for walking out later. But... He forces himself not to look back over his shoulder at the man still seated at the tiny table.

If he's completely honest with himself, he knows he wants nothing more than to see that man again and again.

 _God_ damn _it,_ he thinks, _Bones is gonna kill me._ And damned if he wouldn't enjoy the ride.

Mind made up, Jim swings out of the bedroom; fully clothed, cell phone and wallet in hand. McCoy's still eyeing him up like an evil clown who's out to douse his good dreams with freakish nightmares of circus tents- _really need to stop the analogies,_ Jim thinks to himself- but Jim just breezes past him, into the kitchenette again. It takes only a moment of rifling around in Bones' cupboards to produce a decent-sized mason jar, and he turns with a triumphant motion to settle the container on the table, right next to Bones' hand.

Ignoring the confusion tinting Bones' eyes, Jim reaches into his wallet and pulls out the same five twenties he'd offered earlier; doesn't hesitate before dropping them into the jar. Bones draws a breath, tenses like he's about to roar indignation back at Jim, but the hooker interrupts him. "This,” Jim says, tracing a finger around the lip of the glass, "is for next time. I'm asking for $200, so when you get that much in the jar, you give me a call." He rips off a piece of the torn credit card application, scrawls his number down on it and then drops it into the jar to land atop the twenties.

"What type of tom foolery--" McCoy catches himself, bites back a snarl, "What the hell makes you think I'll call you again?" He grouches, instead.

Jim smiles, leans over to kiss the corner of Bones' lips, barely there, "You're half way there, already, Bones. I think you can set aside another hundred in a couple weeks." He simpers, before landing his lips teasingly across McCoy's for only an instant. The man doesn't turn away, and after a few seconds of indecision, his scowl softens and he sighs in defeat. Jim's smile grows huge for a moment before he makes for the door.

Just before he leaves, he glances back at his trick, smiles; "You know how to find me." Then he’s gone.

Jim is half way back to the subway station before he turns his phone on again, absently watching as the screen lights up with one missed message. He doesn't have to think twice about the phone number- knows it by heart- what makes him pause is the time. Two AM on a Saturday is pretty out there for anyone to contact him.

The message is from Spock; short, and to the point, it hits him like a rolling punch to the gut- _"Janice Rand has been hurt."_


End file.
